


Feathers

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale whump, Caring Crowley, Crowley is a good friend, Gabriel is a dick, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not quite bamf!Crowley but hopefully still satisfying, Pre-Series, Punishment, Sandalphon Being an Asshole (Good Omens), What else is new?, Wing Care, feathers - Freeform, gen - Freeform, repremands, wing whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Aziraphale gets in trouble with Heaven and Gabriel and Sandalphon decide he needs to be taught a lesson. When Crowley finds out, he's determined to make sure they don't get away with it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 125
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [29Pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/29Pieces/gifts).



> For 29Pieces, hope you enjoy the wing whump/care ^_^

It started off as just a normal day in the bookshop. Aziraphale was humming along to some Mozart, while he miracled dust from the shelves, listening for his tea kettle in the back room.

That was when the bell over the door rang.

Aziraphale frowned slightly. He was never really all that fond of guests to his bookshop and so far that day, to his relief, there hadn't been all that many of them, but now he would have to deal with more customers who might decide they wanted to try to buy some of his books.

He sighed, heading out to the front of the shop…

And was greeted by two figures he hadn't been expecting to see.

"Oh, er, Gabriel, Sandalphon..." He clambered for some sort of nicety, but if he were being honest, he was simply shocked to see them here at all. "Er…what can I do for you?"

"Unforgivably ignorant," Sandalphon snorted, making Aziraphale frown. Had he forgotten something?

"Easy, Sandalphon," Gabriel cut in. "If he truly is ignorant, we should find out before we accuse him too harshly."

Aziraphale was even more confused. "I'm…sorry, what is it that I'm supposed to have done?" There _had_ been a couple very small snafus lately, but he'd still ultimately achieved the goals set to him by Heaven so he hadn't really thought it would come back to bite him.

But then…it was Heaven.

Gabriel looked at him with a gaze that almost held pity. "You really don't know?"

"If it has something to do with that car accident, I—"

" _If?_ " Sandalphon cut in snidely. "He really is completely stupid, isn't he?"

Aziraphale started to wring his hands, getting more flustered. "I am sorry about that, I simply wanted to save a life."

"A life that wasn't meant to be saved, you understand," Gabriel cut in. "But that wasn't the main offence, either. There was also the incident in Sussex a couple weeks ago, and the one in Scotland before that."

Aziraphale felt he was shrinking back under their scrutiny, but he squared his shoulders to at least look like he was defending himself. "I do apologize if my actions in those cases were taken out of context, but I promise I did then to the best of my—"

"Stop," Gabriel snapped, and Aziraphale instantly shut his mouth. Having an archangel snap at you was not exactly something you brushed off easily. "The point is, Aziraphale, that you have gone off your original orders no less than eight times in the last few months." He reached into his coat and pulled out a paper, slapping it against Aziraphale's chest.

The lesser angel fumbled to catch it and glanced over the list, feeling like he was sinking into the floor as he read each accusation. It wasn't like he _meant_ to mess up, it was just that sometimes, well, other things happened and he wanted to help as many people as he possibly could. He felt that was his duty as an angel after all.

"I truly am sorry for my mistakes," he said. "I will do better next time, only, I will not apologize for saving people's lives. I never thought it would be a problem."

"Not a problem?" Gabriel demanded, eyes flashing. "The cosmic disruption that happens when you do these things can cause more death! If you're not specifically asked to save a life, then you can assume that thus doing so will disrupt something."

"Not all of them were going to die," Aziraphale protested before he could stop himself. "I simply healed some of them so—"

"That's not the point!" Gabriel snapped again. "You went off script, Aziraphale. _That's_ the problem we have here. You have been going against Heaven's will and on top of that performing many frivolous miracles."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. Had he really been going against Heaven's will? Angels could…they could fall for that. And yet, he had been ignorant…

"I really didn't mean anything malicious by it," he said quietly.

"Yes, we know," Gabriel said with a very longsuffering sigh. "As Sandalphon pointed out, your ignorance is why we came here to begin with. So you would know better for next time."

Sandalphon went to the door and turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED before he shut the blinds. Aziraphale's heartbeat quickened as he instinctively took a step back, feeling the two angels closing in on him. Seeing Sandalphon's mouth turn up into a satisfied smirk gave him a very bad feeling indeed.

"And to make sure that you know better for next time, I'm afraid we're going to have to punish you."

Aziraphale gulped, breathing heavily. Pleading would do no good, he knew, but what was about to happen? Surely if they were going to…to…well, he didn't want to even think about the worst they could do, but surely if it was anything too bad, they would have dragged him back to Heaven first to stand trial. Right?

"Show me your wings, Aziraphale."

Gabriel's command snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up to meet Gabriel's eyes.

"M-my wings?" he stammered.

Gabriel gave him an impatient look, all but tapping his foot. "Yes, Aziraphale. Your wings. I don't want to be here all day." Sandalphon shook his head in agreement. "Do you refuse to accept your punishment?" his voice rose dangerously.

"N-no!" Aziraphale stuttered and shakily materialized his wings. Sandalphon instantly stepped forward and grabbed the arm of his wing firmly, setting his other hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and pushing him to his knees.

Aziraphale felt trapped and extremely vulnerable. He wanted to fight, but he knew it would only be worse for him if he did—he knew from experience. It was always just easier to take the punishment and try to do better next time.

But he was terrified of what they were about to do to him, to his wings…

"What do you think, Sandalphon?" Gabriel asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he strode around to Aziraphale's back, brushing against some of his longer flight feathers on the way. Aziraphale shuddered and Sandalphon seemed to notice, and sent a wicked smirk toward the lesser angel.

"I think that eight counts of misconduct deserve eight punishments," Sandalphon said slimily.

"A fair point," Gabriel said, reaching down to lay a hand on Aziraphale's right wing. He flinched, instinctively folding his wing in before Sandalphon roughly yanked it outward again. "I'd say a feather for each sin would be sufficient."

Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. Feathers? Were they actually going to…

His thoughts were interrupted as Gabriel leaned down, dug his hand into Aziraphale's wing and wrapped his fist around one of the long primaries, ripping it out.

Aziraphale cried out in shock and pain, jerking away from Gabriel, only to fall against Sandalphon who simply shoved him back upright and grabbed his chin.

"Take your punishment like a true angel, Aziraphale," he said, a mocking tone in his voice. "You know you've done wrong."

Another feather was ripped out, and Aziraphale tried to soften the yelp that burst from his throat, but wasn't entirely successful. Sandalphon wrenched his head around so that he was looking over his shoulder, watching as Gabriel ripped a third feather from him. Aziraphale bit his lip to bleeding. His wing was aching now, and he was horrified to see a wide vacant spot where feathers had been pulled. They sat, white and glistening, on the ground next to Gabriel's feet.

The fourth one was pulled.

Aziraphale whimpered and hunched over as Sandalphon finally released his chin with a scoff of disgust.

"Sandalphon," Gabriel said and took a step to the left where he reached for Aziraphale's other wing. Sandalphon wrenched this one out straight as well and Aziraphale tried to fight his trembling as Gabriel repeated the action again, taking four more feathers from Aziraphale's left wing.

By the time the fourth feather was pulled viciously out, Aziraphale had tears streaming down his cheeks and he'd nearly bitten through his lip to keep himself silent. His wings were aching terribly and finally, Sandalphon let him go as Gabriel came back around to face him.

He reached down and grabbed Aziraphale's chin, wrenching it upright so he would meet his eyes. A small look of disgust crossed the archangel's face as he saw Aziraphale's tears but he didn't seem to care, and simply dropped the pile of feathers on the floor beside Aziraphale's knees. "I want you to keep these as a reminder so that next time you will not be so quick to disobey." He straightened. "Oh, and also, I'm revoking your ability to use miracles for a week. It will give you more time to contemplate your actions."

Aziraphale glanced up at him in shock, but didn't say anything. The archangel snapped his fingers and Aziraphale felt a strange sensation, like something being drawn out of him, before he just felt heavy. Gabriel simply left him kneeling there trembling, as he turned on his heel and nodded to Sandalphon as they left the shop.

As soon as they were gone, Aziraphale sagged with a breathless gasp of pain. He looked down at the feathers piled on the ground and was sick to see that there was blood dripping from the tips of the quills.

He craned his neck painfully and saw that the white feathers around the vacant spots in his wings were also tinted scarlet.

It was then that Aziraphale realized that by revoking his right to perform miracles, Gabriel had also made it impossible for him to heal himself.

Aziraphale sniffed, trying to calm himself down. The kettle was whistling, and he didn't know how long it had been doing so. Tea, that would be good. A nice cup of tea would help.

He staggered upright and wiped his face, gathering the feathers up as he recalled his wings with a wince. There was nothing he could do about those anyway. They would heal in time, and that was all. Besides, perhaps he deserved the punishment. He had defied Heaven after all, even if it had been for what he had, at the time, thought of as a good reason. Maybe he should have thought things through a little more. He supposed in reality, Gabriel had been quite lenient. And he and Sandalphon had come here instead of performing his punishment in Heaven, in front of all of the Host.

He sighed and hurriedly opened his wine cabinet, the closest thing he saw and stuffed the feathers inside, not wanting to see them anymore right now. He then went to his kitchenette and turned his stove off, pouring the hot water from the kettle into the pot he had waiting. He was still shaking as he measured out the tea and his wings, though incorporeal, were aching horribly.

He swallowed hard. It was just a reprimand, he'd had them before, he shouldn't let it bother him.

And yet why did this one feel different? Why did it feel like Gabriel and Sandalphon had just come here simply with the intent to be cruel?

Aziraphale decided not to think any more about it, and simply planned on spending the week as quietly as possible until he got his powers back.

_~~~~~~~_

_He did not expect_ Crowley to show up at the bookshop the next day.

Aziraphale had spent a horrible day and night, his wings and back aching horribly. There wasn't much he could do, after all, he couldn't heal himself, and he couldn't see or reach his wings well enough to tend them himself either so he had just left them, a reminder of his punishment as Gabriel had wanted, miserably trying to do anything to distract himself from the pain.

And then first thing in the morning, Crowley had come sauntering through the door.

He hadn't seen the demon for a few weeks and wondered if maybe he had forgotten about a meeting they were supposed to have had with everything that had happened. He was just glad Crowley hadn't decided to come in the day before…

"Angel, where are you?" Crowley called as he walked through the store.

"Er, back here," Aziraphale called.

Crowley strode to the back and hooked his thumb behind his shoulder. "You forgot to change the sign to open. You completely refusing customers now? Not exactly good for business."

Aziraphale ignored him. "What do you want, Crowley?"

The demon stopped as he made it to the back room, cocking his head. "Hey, if I'm not welcome here..."

"No, it's…it's fine," Aziraphale said, trying to force a smile onto his face. He pushed himself up from the chair he was sitting in, fighting back a wince and made his way over to the kitchenette. "How about some tea, since you're here?"

Crowley frowned slightly, but flopped onto the couch. "Hate to bother you, Aziraphale, but, I was wondering if I could call in a favor. Need something done. Arrangement business, you know?"

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line as he turned his back to Crowley, feeling like he was revealing his injuries to the demon and becoming rather self-conscious about it even though he knew Crowley couldn't see his wings. It just felt like he was carrying his shame around. He filled the kettle and was about to snap his fingers to light the stove when he remembered…he couldn't do that. He fumbled for the nob and hoped he wasn't looking too suspicious to the demon. He really wished Crowley hadn't chosen this week to come ask for a favor. After all, there was no way he would be able to do it.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale turned around rather more quickly than he should and faced the demon peering at him from the couch.

"You hear me?"

"Er…I er…I can't do that this week."

"What do you mean, you can't do it this week?" Crowley demanded.

"I'm…er… working on something already and I can't leave London."

Crowley sat back, still staring at him. Aziraphale felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Alright…well, are you sure it's nothing I can help you with?"

"No," Aziraphale replied quickly, reaching for the cream and sugar.

Crowley reached up and pulled his sunglasses down his nose. "Okaayyy. You look a bit flustered, angel. You know, I think you need something a little stronger than tea. You look like you need to air some grievances. What do you have in here, anyway?"

He had gotten up and started over to the wine cupboard. Aziraphale's muddled brain didn't even register the issue until it was too late.

"What the—" Crowley bent to look into the open cupboard before he reached in and pulled out the pile of long, white feathers Aziraphale had shoved in there so, admittedly, he didn't have to look at them despite Gabriel's instructions.

"N-no!" Aziraphale said, starting forward but it was already too late.

Crowley was staring at the feathers curiously. "Strange place to keep feathers. Why have you lost so many? Don't tell me you're molting again, I thought you did that not too long ago." He turned around, narrowing his eyes at Aziraphale. "Is that why you don't want to do anything? I know you always feel under the weather when you molt, though there's usually a lot more sneezing involved…"

"Crowley, please, give them to me!" Aziraphale cried, reaching out for the feathers and snatching them from Crowley's hands, not knowing what to do with them now.

Crowley was still staring at him warily. "It's all right, you know, nothing to be ashamed of. We all do it."

"Just…stop," Aziraphale pleaded, turning around, searching frantically for another place to hide them.

"Aziraphale," Crowley stepped forward and grabbed the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale flinched with a sharp intake of breath, the pain that ripped through him caused him to drop the feathers on the ground.

"What the…are you hurt? Angel, why is there blood on those feathers?"

Aziraphale hurriedly bent despite the pain and snatched the feathers up into his hands again. "It's not your problem. Please, just go."

That only seemed to make Crowley stay more firmly planted on the ground. "No way. You think I'll just walk out of here now? How long have we been friends, Aziraphale? You think I can't tell when something is wrong? Talk to me."

Aziraphale shook his head, but sank onto the couch, shuddering despite himself, feeling his throat close up. "I-it's nothing, really. It was my fault anyway."

Crowley took his sunglasses off and narrowed his eyes, sitting down on the coffee table so that he was opposite Aziraphale. "What happened, angel?"

Aziraphale looked away, biting his lower lip in an attempt to keep it from trembling, but it did little. Crowley sighed.

"Look, it's not like I can't make a good guess. It was the other angels who did this, wasn't it?" A low growl found its way into Crowley's voice as he said it.

Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath and found himself nodding before he could help himself. Oh, he really shouldn't be telling Crowley, and yet… "It was…Gabriel and Sandalphon."

"Bastards," Crowley growled. He reached out and took the feathers from Aziraphale's hands, holding them for a long moment before he set them gently on the table. "Why did they pull your feathers out, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale shook his head. The teapot whistled and Crowley looked up, holding out a hand as Aziraphale started to rise. "I'll get it. You look like you could use some tea after all. Then we can talk."

Crowley brought the tea in and pushed a hot cup into Aziraphale's hands. The angel took a few sips before he was able to speak.

"It really was my fault. I—I disobeyed."

Crowley snorted. "Since when?"

Aziraphale looked down into his tea, clutching the cup tighter. "I've just done some…extra steps that were not required of me, I suppose I could say. Apparently saved people who weren't supposed to be saved, though I wasn't specifically told that, and performed pointless miracles."

Crowley appeared to become more and more enraged as Aziraphale continued.

"It was…eight times," he said softly. "So Gabriel took eight feathers. And…he took away my ability to use miracles for a week as well."

Crowley stared at him in disbelief. "So you can't heal yourself."

Aziraphale gave a jerky nod.

Crowley cursed under his breath as he set the tea aside. "You'd best let me tend to your wings then."

"No, it's really fine…"

"You're hurt, angel!" Crowley growled. "And for Satan's sake, if I can't do anything else…" He trailed off, biting his lip before he shook his head. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Under the kitchen sink," Aziraphale told him, pointing wearily.

Crowley left and came back a moment later with the kit, opening it up and spreading it out on the coffee table.

"You're going to need to let me see your wings," he said quietly.

Aziraphale felt a thrill of dread go through him, even though it was just Crowley asking him. The demon seemed to realize this and made sure to get Aziraphale to look at him. "Hey, it's just me, angel."

Aziraphale let out a slow breath and nodded, before he turned and manifested his wings.

He couldn't help the cry that burst from his lips as he doubled over. The pain was so much worse when his wings were on the physical plane.

"Damn, Aziraphale," Crowley cursed again as he saw the angel's wings.

Aziraphale craned his head around and looked at his wings.

They looked pretty bad, covered in dried and clotted blood around the spots the feathers had been ripped out, the remaining feathers stained from it.

"You should have called me," Crowley reprimanded softly. "These could get infected without your ability to heal yourself."

Aziraphale shuddered. "It was a punishment," he said quietly.

"Stop it!" Crowley snapped sharply, startling Aziraphale. "Stop saying that like it excuses what they did to you! Think about it for a minute, angel, they didn't take you to Heaven, they came here, where you were alone. That doesn't sound like punishment, that sounds like petty hatred. And considering it was Gabriel and Sandalphon, that theory holds more weight to it."

Aziraphale hunched over, hands folded in his lap, clutching at the hem of his sweater. He had tried to push those thoughts aside, but…the truth was, Crowley was right. As much as Aziraphale had tried to excuse what they had done to him—for whatever reason; perhaps to make sense of it—there really was no excuse when you looked at it that way.

"You were only helping people, angel, you _always_ only help people," Crowley told him more gently. "Do you really think that, in and of itself, is a bad thing?"

"No," Aziraphale whispered quietly.

"Then why do you think you needed to be punished for it?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, I'm saying you didn't deserve it," Crowley said firmly. "I need to get some warm water."

He left again and returned with a bowl and some cloths. He set it down and sat behind Aziraphale. "May I?"

Aziraphale nodded jerkily, and tried not to flinch as Crowley touched his right wing first. He started to feel his chest get tight, and fought to even his breathing. It was just Crowley, he reminded himself. Just Crowley.

The demon seemed to realize his hesitation and simply kept his hand still for a couple seconds before he brought up the cloth and began to carefully clean the clotted blood from Aziraphale's feathers. When he reached the tender flesh, the angel inhaled sharply, his back arching from the pain.

"Sorry," Crowley murmured. "There's a lot of dried blood here. I'm just going to clean it off as best I can."

Aziraphale clenched his hands tightly and tried to keep as quiet as possible as Crowley worked, though getting the dried and clotted blood off was an extremely painful process.

Finally, Crowley moved to the other wing and had to start the process all over again. The area where the feathers had been ripped out was just so tender, Aziraphale found it hard to keep the whimpers at bay.

"Just a little bit more," Crowley said as he washed the last of the blood from the angel's feathers and then turned back to the first aid kit. He found some salve and spread it over the injured areas, which actually worked to soothe the pain a little.

When Crowley was finally done, Aziraphale sighed in relief and pulled his wings back to the ethereal plane where they returned to just being a dull ache across his back.

Crowley cleaned up the stuff and poured Aziraphale another cup of tea.

"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked anxiously.

Aziraphale shook his head as he slumped further against the side of the couch. "No…I just. I'm very tired."

"Then sleep."

Aziraphale shook his head. "I don't really want to."

Crowley fidgeted a little. "Do you…want me to leave?"

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, but shook his head. He really didn't want to be alone right now.

Crowley seemed a little relived at this and sat down on the other side of the couch. He stared at the feathers again, still sitting on the coffee table, and Aziraphale curled his hand into a fist. "Gabriel told me to keep those to remind me of what I did."

Crowley's face changed slightly, eyes flashing dangerously. "He's a bastard." He growled and suddenly stood up, grabbing the feathers and shoving them into a drawer on Aziraphale's desk. "We'll put them there for now then. You can decide what you want to do with them later."

Aziraphale felt a little better. It was ridiculous. He never thought anything of the feathers he lost during molts, aside from the annoyance of having to sweep his shop all the time, but this was different. After all, what lesson was he supposed to learn? Why should he feel bad for helping people?

"Angel," Crowley said quietly. "Don't let them make you stop being you."

Aziraphale looked over at him. "I don't plan to," he said, voice firmer and more sure.

Crowley seemed satisfied and reached out to pat his knee. "In the meantime, if you ever need anyone to disobey for you, I'm your demon."

Aziraphale felt a small smile pull his lips upward. "Thank you, Crowley. I really am glad to call you friend."

The demon beamed back and picked up his own teacup.

Aziraphale sunk back against the couch, allowing his eyes to fall shut. He really was tired. Maybe he could manage to sleep a little. It certainly wouldn't hurt him…

Before he knew it, he felt Crowley pulling a blanket over his shoulders. He mumbled a protest, but the demon shushed him.

"Hush…just rest, angel."

Aziraphale hummed in reply and did just that.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale may be all right,_ but Crowley wasn't about ready to let Gabriel and Sandalphon get away with what they had done completely scot free. He spent the week thinking long and hard about how he could get back at them.

Obviously, he wished he could simply confront them and give them a good punch to the face each (maybe two), but that would only work to harm both him and Aziraphale, considering they would find out about their friendship.

So he had to get creative, which, thankfully, Crowley was quite good at.

Obviously, Gabriel and Sandalphon would came back to visit Aziraphale once the week was over, making sure he was properly penitent. Crowley planned to be there in order to enact his plan.

He got to the bookshop early, hiding away in the back, pretending to be a browsing customer. Aziraphale waited nervously in the backroom, and Crowley shot him an encouraging smile.

"Really, Crowley, I don't think you should be here," Aziraphale said.

"I'll be fine," Crowley reassured him.

Aziraphale hissed suddenly and Crowley turned back to minding his own business as Aziraphale hurried back to the front of the shop.

"Gabriel, Sandalphon," he greeted quietly.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel responded, looking around and seeing several people in the shop. He sniffed. "Let's go to the back."

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley snuck his way back there and listened in while staying hidden.

"Are you properly penitent, Aziraphale?" Gabriel asked.

"I have had a lot of time to think," Aziraphale said. "And I am."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Gabriel commented. "Very well, you seem to have learned your lesson. I'll return your power to perform miracles. As long as you stick to the missions directly from now on, I will have no more cause to punish you."

Aziraphale bowed low. "Yes, Gabriel."

Even hearing him say it, knowing it was an act made Crowley's skin crawl. He almost went back to plan A wanting to jump out and deck Gabriel right now, knowing the bastard was probably smirking something fierce, but he refrained.

After all, Gabriel wouldn't be smirking for much longer.

"Let's go, Sandalphon," Gabriel said and they made their way back out of the store.

Crowley pointed a finger at them as they passed his hiding spot and, with a grin, performed a demonic miracle of his own. Well, it wasn't exactly a miracle, but it was what it had to be.

It was effective almost immediately. Gabriel stopped, shoulders twitching. Sandalphon glanced over at him curiously, before he frowned and reached behind him, scratching at his back.

"What's wrong?" Gabriel asked him sharply. "Do you…?"

"The dust in here, I imagine," Sandalphon grunted.

Crowley scoffed. Dust…it wasn't like Aziraphale didn't clean it meticulously all the time.

"You must be right. Let's go," Gabriel grunted and the two angels hurried out the door, hands reaching behind them to scratch at their backs with increasing desperation.

It wouldn't do any good; after all, it was their wings that were affecting them.

Once the door closed Crowley hissed in satisfaction and hurried into the backroom to find Aziraphale there, opening a bottle of wine.

"Now that that's over, I thought we might have some of this," he said to Crowley.

"Yes, please," Crowley agreed. "I hate that you had to say all that though, angel."

Aziraphale sighed. "Yes, well, for now, it's easier to just let them think I'm compliant. I'll just have to get better at hiding things from them in the future. Perhaps you could teach me some of your subtlety."

Crowley hissed in agreement. "Sssure thing, angel."

He picked up his glass of wine, before Aziraphale asked, "By the way, what exactly did you do to them?"

Crowley grinned. "Feather mites. Millions of 'em, all over their wings. They'll be scratching for at least a week, probably longer. Doubt they're smart enough to even realize what's going on."

Aziraphale actually gave a rather mischievous smile and raised his glass. "I must say, I never would have thought of that one. Well done, my dear."

Crowley grinned even wider, and clinked the cups. "That's why we make a good team."

They sipped the wine, relaxing together in the back of the bookshop, while, back in Heaven Gabriel and Sandalphon were not having a very good or relaxing day at all.


End file.
